


Save a Horse

by Alliterative_Albatross



Series: Better Love [10]
Category: Narcos (TV)
Genre: Bad Spanish, Christmas, Christmas Fluff, Domestic Fluff, Established Relationship, F/M, Family Bonding, First Christmas, Fluff, Horses, Meeting the Parents, No Angst, No Plot/Plotless, No Smut, Reader-Insert, Romance, Slice of Life, i like to think i have a refined sense of humor but really i'm just a smartass, just silliness on a farm, ranch
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-12-24
Updated: 2020-12-24
Packaged: 2021-03-11 02:15:21
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,680
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28297383
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Alliterative_Albatross/pseuds/Alliterative_Albatross
Summary: You ride a horse. Javi has a heart attack. A vaguely Christmas-y interlude from the Laredo ranch. Post-Escobar.
Relationships: Javier Peña/Reader, Javier Peña/You
Series: Better Love [10]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/2073882
Comments: 12
Kudos: 56





	Save a Horse

It was Chucho’s idea to start with. 

You’d exhausted the usual Christmas morning pleasantries - breakfast, gifts, hot chocolate. Chucho Peña had politely grilled you when you’d arrived last night, asking all of the usual questions about where you grew up and what you did for fun, and how you’d landed a career with Centra Spike. Conversation dried up quickly after that, and now, the TV blares in the background, playing some stupid holiday film that nobody is paying attention to. 

“Have you ever ridden a horse, Orejas?” Chucho breaks the silence suddenly, with an expression that can only be described as conspiratorial.

“No,” you answer honestly. Beside you, Javi stiffens, and you can feel his eyes on you. You smile. “But I’m game to try anything twice.”

Chucho grins, and Javi huffs a little sigh.

It’s nice outside. For being Christmas Day, the weather is surprisingly mild in Laredo, the air smelling of grass and hay and maybe a little bit of horse, but in a good way. The sunshine is warm on your skin, the sky extending bright blue as far as you can see. 

Chucho leads you to the stables, prattling on about horses and saddles and other things that your city-girl heart doesn’t understand in the slightest. 

“This is Blackie,” he announces, stopping in front of a horse that is, predictably, big and black. 

Creative, you almost say aloud, reminding yourself to be nice just in time. This man is as good as your father-in-law. It’s probably wise to make a favorable impression.

As if sensing your thought, Chucho winks at you. “Javier named him.”

You shoot a little smirk in Javi’s direction, knowing that he’ll pick up on your teasing. He doesn’t rise to your bait, though, the killjoy.

In no time at all, the horses are saddled up and ready to go. Javi is perched atop a cream-colored mare, Cerveza, and Blackie is all yours.

Chucho declines to ride, preferring to supervise you from the ground. “He’s very gentle, Orejas,” he tells you as he helps you into the saddle. “Won’t throw you or buck. Not like Cerveza.” He winks up at you. “Una perra, that one.”

You’ve picked up on enough Spanish during your time in Colombia to get the message.

Javi and Chucho offer you some last-second advice - relax, sit up straight, and keep the reigns loose - and then you’re off, plod-plod-ploding at a mind-numbingly sedate pace around the fence line. 

By the third lap, you are thoroughly, utterly, completely bored.

“I think I’m ready to go faster!” you shout to Chucho. “Can I make him go faster?”

Chucho tips his hat at you, shooting you a toothy grin. “Tap him on the sides with your heels, Orejas, and say, ‘giddap!’”

“Gently,” Javi warns you sharply.

You shoot him a glare that’s only half-mocking. As if you’d just kick this poor horse in the ribs - god, it’s like he doesn’t know you at all.

“Giddap,” you say, nudging Blackie with your feet like Chucho had told you. Blackie jolts forward, cantering half-heartedly for a couple of steps, then slowing to a walk with a disdainful snort. 

Ugh. You toss a glance back at Javi, questioning. He’s doing a very poor job of hiding his grin.

Motherfucker.

Chucho is smiling, too. “Try it with a little more authority, Orejas!” he advises. “He’s a big animal, and proud. You’ve got to tell him what to do, not ask politely.” 

Javi snorts. ”Shouldn’t be too hard.”

You whip around to stare at him, lurching forward when Blackie reacts to your sudden shift in body weight. Behind you, Javi breaks out into snickers.

Well, then.

You decide that Javier Peña is more of a big, dumb, proud animal than the horse you’re riding, and you manage to climb atop him every day and submit him to your will just fine.

Blackie shouldn’t be a problem. 

You huff, determined to get it right this time, and summon every John Wayne movie you’ve ever seen to the forefront of your mind. It’s not an impressive anthology to pull from - you’re more of a sci-fi fan - but it’s more than enough to get a clear picture in your head of what needs to happen. 

You gather the reigns in one hand, straighten your back, and take a deep breath. 

_“Hyah!”_

Blackie is off like a shot, surging forward with an enthusiasm that sends your body rocketing backwards. Your feet fly up, suddenly free of the stirrups, and its all you can do to hold like mad to the reigns with your right hand - why the fuck did you decide one hand was better, anyway?? - while your left flaps free in the wind.

“Whoa, whoa, whoa, whoa,” you tell Blackie. You’re not begging, you’re _not._

You’re vaguely aware of shouts behind you.

You manage to pitch forward just enough to avoid falling off the ass-end of the horse, but it’s a near thing. Blackie is in a full-out gallop, lungs chugging beneath you, mane flapping in the wind and stinging your eyeballs. You lean in and hold on for dear life, and goddamn, none of those westerns ever mention just how rough it is on horseback. You are going to be so fucking sore tomorrow, ass, tits, and bits, but you can’t find it in yourself to care, because you are riding this horse, dammit.

You realize your mistake a moment later. Pride goeth before the fall, and your feet had shaken free of the stirrups on Blackie’s initial leap forward. Now, your legs are free-floating, flap, flap, flapping in the wind, and each bounce is sending you just a hair further over to the side. 

Oh shit shit shit.

You flail, arching your toes in a desperate attempt to find purchase somewhere, but it’s a done deal. _Grip with your knees,_ some primal instinct screams, or maybe that’s just Javi - you’re vaguely aware of him chasing you in the background.

By this point, you’re flat sideways on Blackie’s body, curled up more on his ribs than his back. Flop flop flop. He hasn’t slowed one bit, and you realize with sudden, horrifying clarity that gravity is a fucking bitch, and it’s a matter of _where,_ not if or when, you fall.

You decide to do things on your own terms and let go, dumb as it may be. You pitch forward and roll, tucking your shoulder into the ground like your gymnastics teacher had taught you when you were six. There’s a horrifying moment of chaos and pain - the world is spinning, nothing is under your control, and the breath is knocked completely from you, but it’s over in an instant, and you’re left staring at the shockingly blue sky, blinking into the sunlight and listening to the receding hoof-falls of that goddamned horse.

“Babe! Babe! Babe!” Javi is making a lot of fucking noise somewhere over your shoulder. 

The ridiculousness of the situation hits you all at once, along with a truckload of relief. You relive it all in an instant, picturing how utterly fucking stupid you must have looked, clinging to a runaway horse with your short little legs bouncing like chicken wings, and before you can find your breath again, you’re laughing so hard that you can’t fucking breathe, which is almost a problem, because there wasn’t much air left in you to begin with -

Javi’s kneeling over you now, blocking the sun with his body, panting hard. “Christ. _Christ,_ babe, are you okay?”

You can’t stop laughing long enough to answer him. You curl up in a ball on your side, trying push yourself up on your elbows, but you can’t.

“Oh… Oh my… Oh my god,” you wheeze. 

Beside you, the tension bleeds from Javi’s body in one long, broken sigh. You realize that he’s laughing, too. He leans his forehead into your shoulder, slumping into you bonelessly.

“I… I couldn’t… the fucking foot loops -” in your discombobulated state, the word ‘stirrup’ is lost to you. “My _feet,_ Javi!”

He shakes his head into your neck, hot little breaths huffing on your bare skin. “I know,” he giggles, pressing a quick kiss into your jaw. “I saw.”

You manage to stand, almost a little drunkenly, and reach down to haul Javi to his feet. You’re not much help, but he allows you to make a show of it anyway, sparing the rest of your dignity.

You’re startled by a slow clap behind you. Chucho has finally made it to the scene. “Buena, Orejas!” he teases, dark eyes dancing. “Well done!”

Asshole, you think fondly. Sarcasm runs strong in the Peña clan, it seems. You shake your head at him, a grin pulling at your cheeks.

Chucho reaches to grip Blackie by the reigns. The motherfucker had finished his flight around the the ranch and wandered back toward you, sedately, almost nonchalantly, as if to say, ‘who, me?’

“Ready to go again?” Chucho asks. 

Javi groans. “No, Dad.”

You’re not sure if Chucho’s serious, but you are. “Absolutely!” Fresh air and adrenaline have made you giddy, and you decide on the spot that, apart from almost dying, riding a horse is the most fun you’ve ever had. 

Blackie takes a little half step back, side-eyeing you with as much expression as a horse can muster, as if he’d sensed your intent and wholeheartedly did not approve.

You glance back at Javi. He’s sighing hard, head in his hands, rubbing his palms to his eyeballs with a ferocity that must have him seeing spots.

You decide to have mercy. “How about tomorrow?” you suggest. “I know there’s still some eggnog in the fridge.” 

Chucho nods sagely, still grinning as he pats Blackie on the haunches. “I think so.” He offers you a quick wink, and you decide for the third time this morning that you really, really like your father-in-law.

“Thank fuck,” Javi mutters to himself. 

You elbow him hard enough to draw a grunt, then offer him a quick peck on the lips in compensation. “Come on, babe. It wasn’t that bad.” 

He huffs in response. 

**Author's Note:**

> Set in the same universe as Rules of Engagement (which will be updated on boxing day, my dudes).
> 
> Unbeta'd. 
> 
> Please forgive Ears' utter ignorance of ranch life - hey, she’s enthusiastic, at least. No horses were harmed in the writing of this fic. 
> 
> Title stolen from that terrible Big & Rich song. Sorry, not sorry. 
> 
> Happy Christmas to those of you who celebrate!
> 
> Find me on tumblr @disgruntledspacedad


End file.
